


Interludes

by Mikkeneko



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short, reflective moments between a variety of characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ashura and Fai

"Fai." Ashura appeared in the doorway to his room, holding a candle in an elegant sconce. Fai raised his head from the book he was reading - it was so large that he had to prop it open with both hands in his lap, and it blocked out much of the view of the room - and looked up at his king. "Come with me."

Fai put the book aside with some reluctance, slipped out of the chair and hurried over to Ashura's side. "What... is it?" he asked hesitantly.

"I have something I want to show you," Ashura said with a small smile. He raised his arm and draped his cloak over Fai's shoulders, a habitual gesture that never failed to make Fai feel protected and safe - and with one hand on his back, guided Fai off through the castle hallways.

Fai trailed along in silence, curiosity bubbling up in his mind as to what they were going to see. Ashura had shown him many things since coming to live in this country, both inside the castle and - when the weather was good, wrapped up in many coats and heavy wool-lined boots - down in the valley as well.

However, Ashura led him down the familiar hallways towards the kitchens, and stopped before a small dining chamber which he had seen many times before. "What is it?" he asked again, curiosity and confusion growing.

Ashura only smiled at him again, and pulled open the heavy oaken door. Golden candlelight flooded through the portal, and a chorus of voices chanted from within "Happy Birthday, Lord Fai!"

Fai stood paralyzed, clutching at Ashura's sleeve. The normally plain room was hung with glittering streamers, and the low table where he usually ate had been covered with a fine white cloth. Silver dishes had been set up there, and a small round maple cake sat on a raised platform. Tiny candles glinted in a circle around it, and a handful of small paper-wrapped parcels sat off to the side.

Unable to speak, Fai looked up at Ashura for guidance. Seeing his confusion Ashura answered, "It is a custom in this country, Fai, to celebrate the date of one's birth. Since we don't know for sure what yours is, I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate the day you came to live here one year ago, instead."

"For me?" Fai looked back at the festive vista, completely overwhelmed. "You'd... want to celebrate... me?" Why would anyone want to celebrate him - the cursed child, the child of misfortune, who'd killed his mother and father and brother and his whole world?

"Of course." The pressure on Fai's upper back increased gently, as Ashura ushered him into the chamber and towards the glittering lights. "Now, come on and let's serve the cake."


	2. Fai and Sakura

Sakura found Fai in the workshop, hanging half-in and half-out of the engine block of one of the partially assembled dragonflies. Parts were strewn across the hood, the workbench, every shelf in the room and even the floor; it seemed impossible to think they would all fit inside the petite engine casing.

"Fai-san?" she asked, and he lifted his head and turned to look at her. He was wearing a thick leather apron and heavy gloves, as well as a pair of goggles that he pushed up over the crown of his head as he saw her. All three items were liberally smudged with graphite-dark grease, another streak of it marking his cheek as he swiped hair out of his eyes.

"Oh, hello Sakura-chan," he said. He smiled in welcome - he always smiled when he saw her - but there were tight little lines between his eyes that told her that he was more frustrated than he wanted to let on. "I was just trying to get this all put together. Kuro-daddy will be coming back with another chassis this afternoon, and we'll need to clear some space in here for him to park!"

"Are you having trouble?" she asked, momentarily diverted from her errand. "Can I help?"

Fai hesitated, glancing to the side, then sighed. "It would be nice if you can," he said. "Little pup gave me this diagram that shows where everything is supposed to go, but I can't read any of the notations, and it's a little bit confusing. I could use another set of hands. Or eyes."

Sakura stepped forward and took the large, creased sheet of graph paper from the older man as he held it out to her. It took both hands to hold it out, smoothing out the creases and tilting it towards the light. Although all the parts of the engine were represented, the schematics only showed them in outline and not to scale, and the directional arrows went all over the page. 'A little bit confusing' was an understatement; no wonder Fai was having trouble. "I'll do my best!" she said.

It took them over an hour, but the two of them working together finally managed to reassemble the engine and open up floor space for the new dragonfly. When Fai turned the crank to test the ignition and the engine purred to life, Sakura couldn't help but let out a cheer. She felt somewhat less foolish when Fai cheered along with her, and they grinned at each other as he turned the engine back off.

"Did you originally come looking for me for some reason, Sakura-chan?" Fai asked, and she was suddenly reminded of her original purpose.

"Oh! Lunch," she said, and grinned sheepishly at her forgetfulness. "I made sandwiches! They aren't much, I know, but it's all I can do to help..."

She trailed off; Fai's usual happy smile had dampened down to something much more gentle, almost sad. "Sakura-chan," he said. "You don't need to think like there's some quota of usefulness you have to fulfill. We're very happy to be with you; every day, that's enough."

"I know, but..." Sakura trailed off into a mumble, feeling her face heat. She felt embarrassed, but warmed by Fai's words. He laughed, and stripped off one heavy glove before he reached out to tousle her hair.

"Thank you for your help today," he said. "Let's go have sandwiches, ne?"


	3. Fai and Syaoran

In this world, Kurogane's Maganyan came in a series of hastily printed books on cheap paper and cramped typefont -  _penny dreadfuls_ , the locals called them, and the name was fair. Kurogane had been disgusted to find that the story he'd followed from world to world was told here entirely in text, with hardly any illustrations at all - but there were other ongoing stories, many serials bound together in a single volume in an attempt to persuade people to buy each collection as they came out. And one other member of their party, at least, was hooked.

Fai pounced on Syaoran as he returned from their shopping trip. "Did you get it?" he said anxiously. In response, Syaoran smiled and held up the thick sheaf of papers, bound in a cardboard cover.

"Waaaaaiii, waaaaaiii! New issue, new issue!" Fai cheered as he bounced off through the house, his voice floating back down the stairs. Syaoran shook his head in bemusement and followed, leaving the remainder of the shopping supplies on the table for the time being. None of it would spoil.

In this world it was common for whole families to sleep together in one room, and so they hadn't paired off into separate rooms as they often did. Instead Syaoran, Kurogane and Fai all shared the enormous wooden four-poster bed, and Sakura got the smaller truckle bed that slid out from underneath the furniture leviathan. It wasn't quite what Syaoran's propriety would have demanded - he still felt uncomfortable to share a bedroom with Sakura, whatever the circumstances - but a series of light folding screens at least afforded the princess some privacy.

Fai was in the bedroom when Syaoran got there, bouncing on the big bed's fluffy mattress. Syaoran could understand the temptation - the bolster was truly massive, and the wooden frame beneath more than sturdy enough to resist a little jumping. Still, Syaoran was struck again by the disparity sometimes between how old Fai looked and the age he acted.

"'The Legend of Korra' picks up on page ninety-one," Syaoran said, pulling the heavy wooden chair around with a scrape so that his back would be to the window. "Should I just skip to there?"

Fai stopped bouncing and sat up in the bed, hair and feathers floating around him and a bright smile on his face. "Yay!" he cheered.

Syaoran cleared his throat, reached for a tumbler of water sitting on the bedside table, and took a drink to moisten his throat. He thumbed through the volume to find the desired spot and began to read. Fai settled down as the story unfolded, his legs folded on the duvet and his hands resting in his lap, neck arched smoothly forwards. His eyes were half-closed, only a sliver of blue glowing in the afternoon light through the window as he listened.

It was sad, Syaoran reflected as his voice continued on autopilot, that through all the worlds they'd passed through they'd never found one that spoke anything like Fai's language, nor any written characters he could read. Syaoran knew that Fai was a magician, and knew that he must have studied hard and read widely in order to achieve that status. But he rather thought that for Fai, reading wasn't just a method of study. The older man always had a slightly wistful look on his face when he gazed down at a page he couldn't read; the way his hands rested so lightly and lovingly on the book bindings spoken of a lifelong affair, now broken.

Syaoran knew a lot of languages, but he couldn't teach them all to Fai; it would take a lifetime, and there wasn't much point when they changed worlds (and languages) every week or so. It felt strange to be reading fairy stories aloud, like a parent to a child. But at least - he thought as he glanced up from the page, taking in Fai's half-entranced expression - at least he could give this much back to the man who'd been so much a parent to him in return.


	4. Kurogane and Fai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual content this chapter.

  
"I really wish you would just take the damn socks off," Kurogane grumbled. There wasn't much heat to it; it was hard to muster any real annoyance when he was tangled in bed with his lover, grinding the naked lengths of their bodies together in a most satisfactory manner.  
  
Well,  _mostly_  naked.  
  
"But, Kuro-sama," Fai whine, that sing-song tone of voice that signaled he was trolling the hell out of Kurogane and enjoying it. "My feet would get cooooooold!"  
  
"Will you quit your bitching! This house isn't 'cold,' all right? Especially not compared to that icebox you called a home country." Kurogane raised his head enough to blink sweat out of his eyes, supporting himself with one arm extended and planted beside Fai's head, fingers tangled in a wild spread of blond hair.  
  
Fai was grinning, quite evilly Kurogane thought. "But Kuro-sweaty," he said, "without socks, I wouldn't be able to do... this." He ran his foot up the back of Kurogane's leg, trailing the soft fabric over the sensitive hollow behind his knee, thigh, hip... Kurogane gasped, shivering at the sensation.  
  
 _Damn,_  but Fai was flexible.


	5. Kurogane and Sakura

Ever since the princess had woken they had all, each in their own way, taken it upon themselves to teach her things. It was partly practical; there were only four of them against the world, every world, so the more things they could do for themselves the better. And it was also partly because they all sensed how crippled the loss of her memories had left her. A lifetime's worth of knowledge, all gone in a moment - they were getting the feathers back for her but slowly, oh so slowly. It was not fair to make her wait the interminable gaps between one memory and the next, in order to find substance and fulfillment in her life.

So they taught her things. Syaoran's part was at once the easiest and the hardest; because Sakura knew that Syaoran came from the same country as her, but she did not know (could never know) how much of a life they had shared together. Syaoran took it upon himself to teach her things of their own shared heritage: the history and culture and language and plants and flowers of their homeworld. They sat with their heads bent together over a book or a board as Syaoran sketched something with quick sure strokes.

Fai's tutelage was more practical, more active, since he couldn't read the princess' language nor she his. He taught her the skills of every day living and a hundred other useful little things besides: how to cook, how to prepare medicines, how to mend clothes and bind wounds and boil water in preparation for drinking, and sometimes when they were both too tired to work he taught her the songs of his country, beautiful melodies wrapped around words too strange for Mokona to translate.

For Kurogane it was harder. Most of the skills he knew were not appropriate in any way for a girl like Sakura to learn. Even some of the more innocuous ones - like how to move stealthily in the shadows, or conceal a weapon up one's sleeve - he didn't feel quite comfortable sharing with her (even if Fai scolded him, out of Sakura's hearing, for thinking that way. "She's not a child, Kuro-daddy," he chastened - as though he had any right to talk! - "Who knows what will happen on this journey? She might need to know someday.") He knew that, knew it as well as the stupid mage did. But Sakura was never going to be a warrior, not in the way he was. That wasn't her strength, it wasn't her calling. And that was fine. But it meant that Kurogane had less to share with than the others.

But one day, when the weather was fine and Syaoran and Fai were out pursuing a lead and Sakura was restless, hot and bored, he went with her out to the river near their lodgings. They'd been here long enough for Kurogane to watch people come and go from the riverbank, and knew that this stretch was set aside for fishing.

He borrowed a set of tackle from a neighbor, and taught Sakura how to string the weight and bobber and hook on the line. He showed her how to bait the hook ("Ew!" was her reaction, but she tried it herself willingly enough) and the proper flick of the wrist to cast the line out in the current.

And he taught her to settle back and wait, patiently, for some bob of the line. It was not so different from guard duty that way, really, or the wait of a stakeout where he had crouched in a blind and waited patiently for his prey to pass underneath.

"Do you think we'll catch anything?" Sakura asked, her chin on her knees as she watched the grass of the riverbank wave in the current.

"Probably," Kurogane said, eyeing the silver glints passing through the muddy currents in the river beyond.

"Then what?" Sakura wanted to know.

"Then we have it for dinner, I guess," Kurogane said. "I bet that guy knows how to cook fish." A small smile crept over his face at the thought of Fai's reaction at being asked to clean the cold, silver, slimy things; he'd make him do it, he decided, in payment for Kurogane doing all the work to catch them.

Sakura looked up at him, and her ginger hair waved about her face in strands like the river grasses. "Do you think he can teach me?" she asked.

"Probably," Kurogane replied. "If you want to learn."

Then there was a tug on the line and Sakura jumped to her feet and squealed with excitement, yanking on the pole, and Kurogane had to teach her the proper way to land a fish.


	6. Mokona and Kurogane

"Hey guys, look at the retarded rabbit."

Mokona twitched her ears up, looking around her. She'd been waiting on a park bench while her friends did the shopping; the store had a strict "No Animals" policy (Mokona wasn't an animal!) and she hadn't been allowed inside.

During her preoccupation, she had acquired company. The park bench where she'd been sitting was surrounded by kids, anywhere between the ages of eight and eleven and all of them boys. There were four of them, nudging and poking and slapping each other, all wearing most unpleasant expressions.

"Naw, it's not a rabbit," one of the boys spoke up. "Look at its gimpy little legs. It's probably a rat."

Mokona sat up straight, huffing indignantly. Rat, indeed! One of the other boys replied by punching the first in the chest, prompting an angry scowl. "That ain't no rat! Are you stupid?"

"It is so!" The first boy made a grab for Mokona, and she didn't dodge in time; she found herself swept up by a pair of grubby hands that squeezed painfully.  _Not_  the careful way that any of her friends held her. "You know how we can tell, we could feed it some rat poison. Then if it dies, it's a rat!"

She squirmed with all her might, and when that failed to win her free, resorted to her voice. "Mokona is not a rat!" she said stridently. "Mokona is Mokona!"

The boys all jumped, and Mokona managed to wriggle free and hopped back onto the bench. They goggled at her. "Holy shit, that rat just talked!" one of them said.

"It must be a robot," another said. "Hey, open it up and find its batteries! My walkman's busted, I need new ones."

"Leave Mokona alone!" She gave them her best glare, but it wasn't very threatening from her vantage point. "Mokona isn't a robot!"

Another punk made a grab for Mokona, which she barely avoided. "Yeah, take it apart and find out what makes it tick!"

Mokona gave a wail and jumped off the park bench, hurrying towards the cover of a nearby hedge. A viciously swung foot almost connected with her, and she was forced to veer hastily off. A forest of legs crowded around her, kicking and stomping, and Mokona gave a quick blast of Secret Technique #24: Reverse Vacuum Blast (Medium Power) which scattered them temporarily. Taking the opportunity, Mokona bolted off down the street.

Ugly shouts and tramping footsteps followed her, and Mokona redoubled her speed as she considered her dilemma. If it came down to it, she probably  _could_  defend herself more strenuously. Some of Mokona's secret techniques were quite powerful. The problem was, Mokona didn't want to really hurt any kids, even mean punk kids. She wasn't sure she could get them to leave her alone without seriously hurting someone.

A black figure loomed at the end of the block, and Mokona brightened hopefully as she made for it. "Kuro-daddy!" she cried out, and he turned towards her with some surprise. He looked up the block at her pursuers, and his expression darkened thunderously.

Completely winded, Mokona used her last effort to jump into the crook of Kurogane's arms. He caught her and quickly hid her safely in the folds of his black cloak, then turned to the kids who'd followed her. "What the hell do you little punks think you're doing?" he snarled dangerously. His deep baritone voice made the space around his ribcage rumble like a thunderstorm, and Mokona quivered in the safe space as she caught her breath. She peeked out around the corner of her cloak just in time to see her would-be tormenters slink away, spooked and chastened. Apparently scary-face Kurogane could do what Mokona's Secret Techniques couldn't, and banish the bullies without any further need for violence.

"You okay?" Kurogane said abruptly, and Mokona realized he was talking to her.

"Hmph!" Mokona said, regaining some of her composure. "Stupid kids. They called Mokona a rat! Mokona's not a rat, or a bunny, or a robot, either!"

"Nah," Kurogane said in agreement. "Good thing they didn't figure out what you  _really_  were."

"What do you mean?" Mokona frowned in confusion, and Kurogane chuckled.

"If they realized you were a pork bun, they might have tried to eat you!"

"HEY!" Mokona squawked, and pinched the side of his neck hard enough to make him wince. "Kuro-bully is just as bad as the rest of them!"

But she made no move to leave the shelter of Kurogane's cloak, and he made no move to evict her, either. As they turned down the street to meet up with the rest of their friends, he laid one warm hand on her head between her ears, to keep her steady and safe.

 


	7. Sakura and Syaoran

They went on three dates — more for the sake of appearances than anything else. They knew already from the time they first met (from before they were born) that they loved one another, needed one another, were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. They knew it like they knew how to breathe, how to walk, the shapes of their own faces in the mirror: they were made for one another.

But try explaining  _that_ to your parents. Or to your overprotective older brother, for that matter.

So they dated for a while. Twice while Sakura's class was still in Hong Kong, and then a third time when Syaoran flew over to visit her in Japan. They went to parks, to movies, ate hamburgers and ice cream, and somehow every time afternoon stretched into evening stretched into night while they walked slowly around the pond, hand in hand, talking softly.

For as much as Sakura had been ready to run to Syaoran's arms as soon as she saw him, there was much to catch up on. They had each lived lives of their own, seperate and special, in this world where they had been reborn. There was a lot to get to know. So they talked about sisters and brothers, schools and friends and hobbies and magic. And since they were being so conscious of appearances, they very carefully did not speak of other things: of death and rebirth and mad sorcerers, of murder and children and time warped all out of shape.

They could not forget all the pain that they had left behind them, nor that which was still to come. But for the moment, at least, they had each other.


	8. Souma and Kurogane

It was hard to say which of them least wanted to be there. Kurogane didn't get why he had to study  _ninjitsu_ in the first place; it was sneaky, dishonest and not at all like the ideals his father had taught him. Souma, for her own part, was clearly unhappy to have this upstart country brat presented to her as a trainee - to say nothing of the fact that the first time they'd met, he'd killed half a dozen of her best men. The two were unlikely to ever become friends.

But the Tsukuyomi did her work at night, and so it was an ages-old tradition that any guards who served her had to be qualified in the arts of stealth and deceit (if only so they knew what to look out for.) So on Kurogane's fifteenth birthday, the very day he was officially old enough to be registered as part of Souma's regiment, he became her pupil.

And for Tomoyo's sake if no one else's, Souma was bound and determined to make a ninja out of him.

"You failed again!" Souma moved with the speed of a striking snake; even with his sharp warrior instincts, Kurogane didn't even see her hand as it came flying towards his head. He only felt the ringing clout of her hands cupped over his ears, and shook his head to clear the dizziness. "A deaf and blind grandfather could have heard you sneaking down that hallway! You thunder like a herd of oxen! You could hardly fail more pathetically at stealth if you dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and yelled your presence every time you enter a room!"

Kurogane rubbed his ear and glared at his teacher, who glared right back. "It's not my fault I'm having a growth spurt," he grumbled. He was, too; he'd shot up from being shorter than Souma to looming a full head over her in less than a year, and showed no signs of stopping his growth anytime soon. His voice, too, wavered between a childish tenor and a cracking deep baritone. "This is easy for you chicks. You're already small and skinny, so it's easy for you to hide!"

"Cretin!" Souma's hand flashed out again, and this time Kurogane tried to anticipate the blow and duck; once again his head was set ringing. "You think it's  _easy_ for us kunoichi? Hah! The world is your oyster for boys! Nobody cares if you get scarred up during a fight, it's all 'proof of prowess in battle' and 'chicks dig scars.' But we're expected to keep our skin perfect, even while wearing less protective gear than any of you lot..."

Kurogane muttered something under his breath; unfortunately, Souma's hearing was preternatural. Her glare on him intensified. _"What was that?"_ she demanded, her voice going up half an octave in pitch.

"I  _said,_ " Kurogane snarled, "that if chicks dig scars, what's  _your_ problem?"

Souma's eyes flashed dangerously. Kurogane knew what was coming, and winced even before she half-rose, and -

He still couldn't  _see_  her hands move, but he knew they were coming - he could almost  _sense_  them. Without thinking his own hand snapped up, with all the honed reflexes his father had taught him since childhood -

The two of them froze like that, Kurogane's hand holding onto Souma's inches away from his face.

A small smile crossed Souma's face. "Hmph," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if you could do it at all." Casually, she broke her hand from his grip as though it had been no more than wet tissue paper. "There's more to being a ninja than wearing black and lurking sinisterly in corners, you know. Sit down, shut up and listen to my lessons, and we might make a ninja of you yet."

Personally, Kurogane doubted it.


	9. Tomoyo and Kurogane

The shrine was sacred; no weapons were allowed in here. If he was going to stay by Tomoyo's side, Kurogane had to leave his sword out by the entrance. Tomoyo had laughed softly when he had protested. "Surely not even the Tokubashi would commit the sacrilige of offering violence on this sacred ground?" she'd said, smiling.

He didn't like it. It wasn't just that he resented being separated from Ginryuu - the new Ginryuu, reforged and copied to the smallest detail - although he was. Threats had been coming in for the last month against the Tsukuyomi - veiled, anonymous threats, although the court advisers had their own theories as to who was behind them. He didn't like being around Tomoyo and feeling so defenseless.

The shrine was dim - lit only by moonlight - and quiet - the rustling fall of water the only sound. Tomoyo opened her eyes and lifted her head from her meditations.

The whisper of steel in its scabbard was barely louder than that of the water; a shadow detached from the walls around them and rushed suddenly at the pair of them, moonlight glinting on sharp and strangely shaped blades. Kurogane didn't waste a moment; he came to his feet and snapped out one long arm, his fingers brushing against Tomoyo's hair as he pulled the long, sharp hair pin from her tresses. It was no Ginryuu, but it would do.

Tomoyo's gasp echoed hollowly around the shrine; her dark hair slid like water falling down around her shoulders. Kurogane met the assassin in a rush; the struggle was hot and bloody but brief. He forced his opponent's weapon aside and brought his own to bear, stabbing the hairpin through the enemy's neck and leaving it there.

The assassin choked and gurgled, clutching at his throat as he slid slowly towards the ground. Blood flowed around both their feet when he was done, the red appearing black in the dim lighting; it splashed across his clothing as well, invisible on the black fabric, and his skin. "Kurogane," Tomoyo whispered, her voice shocked. "Blood, here... in this sacred place? Could you not have found some way to subdue him, disarm him?"

"He attacked first," Kurogane reminded her, bending down to retrieve the hairpin. "I don't give a damn about sanctity or sacrilige, not when you're in danger."

Her eyes shimmered with tears, twin full moons in the dim light; she blinked rapidly, then turned away. Kurogane knew how much the violence hurt her, the spilt blood, but he didn't care. Only Tomoyo's life mattered to him. Everything else in this world could go to hell, and Kurogane would gladly send it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wasn't sure what to write for this, until I considered Chandler's Law, which offers the following advice: "When in doubt for what to do next, have ninjas attack."


	10. Yuui and Fai

He wasn't, by nature, a violent man. Therein lay much of his troubles.

But he'd never in his life wanted to haul off and smack Syaoran - any Syaoran, even the boy who'd lost his soul and claimed his eye - quite so much as in that moment. The moment where Syaoran suggested that if he'd never made his desperate deal with Fei Wong Reed, then Fai would not have been born as a twin.

The thought of that - the thought of being born alone, of never having known Fai, of never seeing that beloved face by his side - how could Syaoran suggest that he would want that? However bitterly he had wished, at some times, that they had not been born as twins, that they had not brought misfortune, that they had been born into any other world that would not hate them for what they were - he could never have wished for Fai not to be. Better to undo himself, if it ever came to that. Better that he should never have been born at all, then to be born alone.

He remembered:

In a world of giants, shadowy gargantuan figures and sky-high looming cradles, of thunder-rumbling voices and lightning-crash claps of movement; another body by his side. He remembered a hand curled sweetly into his own, the sound of other breaths matching the tone and frequency of his. He remembered cornsilk hair spilled onto the pillows, the ends tickling his cheeks; remembered skyblue eyes returning his own gaze, mirroring every thought and inflection.

He remembered: words between them, the tones hushed, in their own special language meant just for the two of them. Games so convoluted and arcane that they could never have explained the rules to anyone else, a shared understanding that defied communication. First steps taken on the same day; seeing Fai walk, he knew that he must be able to do the same himself. Tears, all too many of those, and sticky make-it-better kisses.

Love, surpassing and unconditional; the kind that mothers were supposed to have for their children, or so he'd heard. Their mother never had. If he'd been born alone, as Syaoran suggested, would she have loved him then? Could she? If she'd been capable of that kind of love at all, why would she have forsaken them?

How would it have been better to never have had Fai? Would their father have lived, the father he never knew? Would their uncle still have been so treacherous, so mad? Would it have been better to walk the halls of Valeria cloaked in shallow smiles and acceptance, never knowing the depths of viciousness that his people were capable of, had he dared to be born a twin?

It hurt, being without Fai. It hurt that he had not been able to save his brother, it hurt not to be able to bring him back. It hurt to lose him, and then lose him again, more than any other pain he'd known in a life that was all too full of it. But the pain came only from how much they had loved each other, a love that had been torn out of his soul like a farmer yanking a deep-rooted plant from the ground and leaving a bleeding hollow in its place. He would not, could not, wish that love gone.

What might his life have been like, were he born without Fai? He was glad he'd never know.


End file.
